


Falco Columbaris

by asilentherald



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animal Transformation, Gen, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Finale, Waiting for Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asilentherald/pseuds/asilentherald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin finds a way to visit Arthur. It's not perfect – magic is strange that way, after all, and the rules of Avalon are no exception – but it's certainly better than nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falco Columbaris

Merlin stands on the sand. It’s not the first time he’s done this, but it’s not fair, having to wait so long. He wants it to be worth the trip, when he does this, so Merlin chooses carefully each time. It’s harder now that the magic of the land is slower, sadder, more sluggish, even at his call, but Merlin can feel that it wants Merlin to do it.

Last time, he almost stayed. The look in Arthur’s eyes is what sent him back.

Merlin waits until the moon is high in the sky when its pull on the earth is strongest; water pushes sand between Merlin’s toes. He exhales and takes his hands out of his pockets, bending to touch the surface of the lake. Merlin casts the spell and lets it free him.

 

* * *

 

Arthur is cutting his way through a thicket when he feels the shift. He stops, the sun hot on the back of his neck. A cloud briefly obscures the sun and for one moment it’s like a waterfall cascading over his body. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, so Arthur grunts and keeps going, moving in quicker jabs and thrusts than before.

With a triumphant yell he stumbles out of the dense forest into a clearing. The water glitters like a mass of jewels before him, the sand so white it almost blinds him. Arthur shoves his sword into the ground and sits. The metal of his armor heats up quickly, so Arthur gets back up to discard it. When he’s stripped down to his tunic and breeches, he tears his boots off and runs to the water.

It’s gloriously cold against the hot sand. Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets and stares out at the expanse. The sky is cloudless, the same color as the sea before him. Arthur thinks it’s a bit like a mouth, wide open, yawning, waiting to swallow him up. He’s tried to swim out there before, but he always falls over the edge and lands on the other side of Avalon, and his journey starts anew. Arthur bends to roll up his trousers. He scoops some of the water into his mouth. The water is fresh and clean, better than any other food or drink in all of Avalon.

He stands and looks around. Finally, he hears the flapping of wings. Claws grip his shoulder, tightly at first, as though the bird’s about to fall over, then gently, clearly wary of Arthur’s soft arm.

“You’re late,” Arthur says, “again.”

Merlin glares at him.

_You don’t have a sense of time, you prat. How would you know?_

“I got here a while ago,” Arthur says. “So either you’re getting slow, or I’m getting better at crossing an entire mystical isle,” he pauses. “It’s probably me, actually. I’m just that impressive.”

Merlin nips Arthur’s ear sharply.

“Hey! I told you not to do that!”

_I’m a bird, Arthur. I can’t control myself._

“You’re an idiot, that’s what. Now get off,” Arthur says, rolling his shoulder until Merlin flies. He soars upward for a while, giving Arthur the time to take off his shirt. He’s halfway through unlacing his trousers when Merlin returns and hovers at eye-level.

_What are you doing?_

“Swimming. It’s summer.”

_Is it? Lucky you. It’s snowing on my end of the lake._

“Freezing your arse off, are you?” he says as he kicks his trousers aside and wades into the water up to waist-level.

_Nope. I’ve left. Gone to Spain where the weather’s much nicer, actually._

“Glad you’ve wizened up and left that miserable place,” Arthur says quietly. He listens to the silence and hears nothing, not even the waves crashing on the shore. It’s the most unnerving thing about Avalon – the quiet. He only ever hears himself speak, and Merlin, when he can come to him like this, but that’s only in his head.

_You know I’ll never leave, Arthur._

“You’re stupider than you look, then,” Arthur says. “You look smarter as a bird, you know.”

 _Thanks,_ he says flatly. _Are you…. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?_

“No,” he virtually shouts. His voice seems to echo, even in the dead silence. “No, Merlin. Please. I’ll come back to you soon. I know it.”

_You don’t._

“Nor do you.”

 _Then what’s it matter? You have everything you could possibly need here! It’s beautiful, much nicer than what the world’s become without you_ , Merlin says. Arthur can hear the desperation tainting his normally steady voice.

He flaps about and flies as he speaks, only to settle on the water next to Arthur. His eyes are black, ringed with gold, his feathers a rather beautiful mix of brown, white, and gray. The falcon is the perfect hunting bird – most of the time when Merlin’s not there, Arthur’s laughing at the irony of the form of his friend’s alter-ego. Even after all Arthur’s learned about their years in Camelot, he knows Merlin, however capable at killing he is, will never be good at hunting.

“Can we talk about something else?” Arthur says. He looks at Merlin and does his best to appeal to the bird, never sure if Merlin in this form can pick up on everything Arthur says without words.

Merlin assents, though it’s clear he doesn’t quite want to let it go. They talk about everything and nothing, as always, until the sky turns almost black but for the moon below the horizon casting a haunting glow on the waters. The air is cold now, but Arthur doesn’t shiver, not even in the water. Merlin starts to grow restless. He shakes water from his wings and rises off the lake’s surface.

“Merlin,” Arthur calls out. “It’s not time yet!”

 _It is. I can feel it. The magic’s drawing me back_ , he says urgently. He heads for the horizon and, for the first time in a long time, Arthur follows.

_What the hell are you doing? Go back!_

“It’s okay, Merlin,” he pants, kicking harder through the water. He leaves a trail of ripples and foam behind him in the flat water.

The edge approaches, the darkness of the night sky growing into a black wall. Merlin hovers before it. The bird swoops down to where Arthur’s treading water hardly a foot from the edge. Arthur holds out an arm for Merlin. The bird carefully lands on his shoulder. Arthur’s expecting a fond insult or even a sharp peck, but instead Merlin leans in and rubs his head against Arthur’s cheek. Arthur raises a hand intending to touch his feathers, to return the gesture somehow, but Merlin flies away, swallowed by the darkness.

“You’re not supposed to say goodbye,” Arthur murmurs. He treads water at the edge of Avalon for a long time before finally turning around and swimming to shore, something in his chest feeling terribly empty and sore all the way back.

 

* * *

 

Merlin gasps for air. He breaks through the surface of the lake, dripping wet. His clothes, as usual, are ruined and his joints are terribly stiff, even more so in the icy morning air. Merlin crawls up the waterbed until he’s on mostly dry land. He turns over and falls on his back, ignoring the ice forming in his hair. He coughs heavily enough to rattle his chest. He curls up on his side facing away from the sunrise, squeezing his eyes shut. Merlin exhales a rattle of a breath. The air condenses before his eyes and dissipates.

The sun breaks over the treeline. Merlin eases himself upright and sits facing the lake now. The surface is calm and glassy, the sky almost the same color as the water. Eventually, Merlin stands and plods his way uphill, through the woods, and away from the Lake of Avalon.


End file.
